


Full

by superstringtheory



Series: Thawing [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky/food OTP, Chubby Kink, Feeding, Feeding Kink, M/M, Mild D/s, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Slash, Stuffing, Trinity the three-legged therapy cat, Weight Gain, chubby!bucky, gentle dom!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7193144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky more than catches up on years of not getting enough to eat. Steve likes to watch. Natasha likes to matchmake. It's all very delicious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wreckingthefinite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckingthefinite/gifts).



> For wreckingthefinite (missjanedoeeyes on tumblr), for encouraging me to dumpster dive. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at superstringtheory.tumblr.com. I'll talk chubby Bucky or walking kink machine Seb Stan any time. 
> 
> Companion piece to Thaw.

Bucky's temperature may have returned to nearly normal, but he still has to take it easy for a few weeks, doctor’s orders. 

Bucky is hardly one to argue about this; in any case, for the first few days he’s “recovered,” he's still running a pesky low-grade fever and stopping to cough every time he says more than three sentences in a row. Still, all things considered, he's doing pretty well. 

Besides, as more of an indoor guest than a bed bound invalid, Bucky is able to discover several magical things about T’Challa’s compound. First and foremost: the food. God, the  _ food _ . 

Sam and Nat had brought Bucky mainly plain things to eat, and Bucky had been too sick to want anything else. Now that he feels more himself, though, he tastes German candy bars on the tip of his tongue and fresh plums at the back of his throat. 

Now that he has more autonomy, he realizes: Nat and Sam had been fuckin’ holding out on him. Wakanda is a veritable smorgasbord and Bucky is here. For. It. 

~~~~~

The first time Bucky eats lunch alone in T’Challa’s staff cafeteria (and this is way more Google than underfunded elementary school, as cafeterias go), he thinks that he may never leave again. Firstly, because there is food of every kind, freshly prepared and with generous portions. Secondly, because he eats so much that it takes him a full half hour to get up and stagger back  to his room. 

It started out with the problem of choices. There were too many, and Bucky didn't want to have to decide between lasagna (God, the piece was huge and slathered in cheese), sushi (two whole California rolls, just for Bucky), or fried chicken. So he doesn't. He also doesn't choose between pizza and breadsticks and a giant mound of fried rice. He tops everything off with the largest bowl of ice cream he’s ever seen (a swirl of chocolate and vanilla, with giant pieces of cookie dough and an entire brownie smushed into it, covered in hot fudge and caramel). 

Bucky thinks it rather fortunate that the rest of the squad (hashtag squad goals, get on his level-- Sam’s been trying to teach him about Twitter, which has gone swimmingly: “Why would I want to tweet at someone?” Bucky had asked. “Can’t I meow at people instead?”) is otherwise occupied today, because this whole situation is kind of embarrassing. Russia’s former assassin numero uno, outdone by a buffet. 

Not that Bucky’s complaining. There’s something strangely arousing about the realization that he’s chosen to eat so much that he actually needs to sit and digest for a while before he can get up. Needs to sit and palm his gurgling tummy with his hand (and if there’s any time Bucky’s ever wished for the metal arm back, it’s now-- his stomach feels hot and tight and the cool metal seems like it’d be soothing) and think about how nice it’d be to get a belly rub from someone like Steve. Not necessarily Steve, but-- well, yeah, Steve’s the one attached to the hand Bucky’s picturing. 

It’s just that Steve’s hands are large and strong, and Bucky knows they’d feel great kneading his belly, running through his hair, wrapping around his dick… 

Hup. Bucky comes back to himself as his belly lets out a long, low gurgle and then he hiccups hugely, surprising up a large burp. He pats his belly like it’s a dog and figures it’s time to maybe try getting up again and taking care of himself in his own room. It’s not like his dick is halfway hard from eating himself stupid and then thinking about his best friend’s capacity for belly rubs. That’d be silly. 

~~~~~

Back in his room, Bucky lies flat on his back, careful not to jostle his stomach. Trinity hops up on the bed and he reaches his hand out to her. She noses it vigorously before reaching out a probing paw to step up onto Bucky’s current burial mound of a belly. Bucky winces as the cat puts more of her weight onto his stomach. 

“Not much lap for you here right now, sweetheart.” He shoos the cat away gently and then lets his hand lie delicately on top of his tummy. Ugh. 

Eventually, he must fall asleep because he wakes up to Sam opening the door and saying, “Whoa, you okay, dude?” 

Bucky has to consider for a moment: he’s just fallen asleep on top of his covers, in the middle of the day, after eating enough to feed a family of four. The Trump sweatshirt is rucked up a bit to reveal a hint of swollen tummy, and there’s some dried chocolate sauce on the sleeve. 

Trinity weaves herself around Sam’s legs, and he bends to pat her. “Hello, little girl!” he exclaims, voice becoming high-pitched and entirely unlike the stone-faced Falcon Sam likes to think he is. 

Bucky snorts and sits up gingerly. “I’m good.” 

Sam looks up from attending to the cat, who has now fallen over on her side like the little slut she is. “You sure? ‘Cuz when I came in, you looked like Free Willy… except not as free.” 

“Huh?” 

Sam chuckles. “Never mind.” 

Bucky tugs the sweatshirt down, hides a burp in his fist. “What do you want, Wilson?” 

Sam straightens up from petting Trinity. “Came to see if you wanted to come hang. I’m about to kick Scott’s ass at Battlefield 3.” 

“... don’t you have a bit of an unfair advantage? Y’know, having been an elite Marine and all?” 

“Yup.” Sam doesn't even look embarrassed about it. 

“Well, I was going to stay here, maybe… catch up on some reading.” Bucky tries to sit normally and not like his stomach is currently killing him. 

“... Catch up on some reading,” Sam repeats. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah. A lot of good books have come out in the last seventy years. Figured I'd work on catching up or... whatever.” 

At this, Sam actually snorts. “You sure it's got nothing to do with you looking like you got in a fight with an ice cream sundae and the sundae won?”

“... Might’ve overdone it at the caf.” Bucky shrugs his good shoulder, as if this is something that could happen to anyone. 

“I see.” Sam eyes him critically. “You need some Pepto?” 

“Pepto?” 

“Yeah, it’s pink, comes in a little cup, good for”-- at this Sam waves his hand vaguely at Bucky’s midsection-- “that kind of situation.” 

“Oh.” Bucky’s stomach chooses that moment to emit a sickly gurgle. “Might be good, I guess.” 

~~~~~

The pink stuff does do some good, and Bucky lays on his side on his bed, Trinity pressed up against him, flipping the pages of a book by some guy named Dick. The book’s about what could've happened if Japan and Germany had won World War II. Bucky's not sure if he follows everything exactly, but thinks maybe that's the point. Plus, Russia isn't even mentioned, and Bucky finds that very comforting. 

~~~~~

After the second time Bucky texts Sam to ask for more of the pink medicine, Sam just leaves the bottle. 

~~~~~

Bucky finds himself settling into a more comfortable kind of rhythm in Wakanda. And if maybe his body seems to be, well--  _ settling _ \-- a bit too, what the hell, he's a cranky 95-year-old who just wants to eat a few good meals. Besides, the Bucky that Steve remembers, the one who called him pal and sometimes slept pressed up against his thin wheezing chest even in hot Brooklyn summers-- that dude, he had a little bit of pudge on him, and there was no shame in that (or denying it). In some weird way, as his body starts to approximate the past (and get further and further from the strappy, blank-eyed and brainwashed Winter Soldier), Bucky feels more like himself. He feels like he can finally inhabit this skin again; no longer rattling around inside it but pressed right up to its edges, so much that it hurts. 

A typical day goes something like this: 

  * Wake up, feed Trinity, spend way too long sleepily watching her crunch her breakfast and petting her once she's finished 
  * Eat breakfast with Scott, usually, and sometimes Nat. (Rarely, Steve.) Breakfast usually includes bacon, a lot of it, and so much French toast or pancakes that his dining mates are amazed. The last time Steve joined them, he got weirdly flustered somewhere around Bucky's tenth pancake and had to leave suddenly for a forgotten meeting. Supposedly. 
  * Patrolling the compound with Nat or Sam- T’Challa had agreed that having elite soldiers and assassins basically sit around and play Scrabble was good for the vocabulary, yes, but hardly a good use of their talents. 
  * Lunch- which Bucky tends to spend with a science fiction novel (and wasn't everything science fiction now?) propped open as he mindlessly eats a footlong sandwich (and chips, and fro-yo with toppings)
  * Combat practice-- sometimes. Nat and Sam spar together for at least an hour every day, but Bucky is often too sleepy and full and frankly, couldn't give a damn, my dear (he and Sam recently watched Gone With the Wind, which Bucky had never gotten to see the first time around the wheel of ka, and Bucky was absolutely tickled by the pure sass embodied by Vivien Leigh. He also likes Clark Gable and his mustache and his man’s man aura- it reminds him of Steve in a certain way). 
  * Hanging out with Nat, Sam, and Scott in various combinations. Bucky can't play video games with his one hand, but he's content to watch the others and listen to their banter as he plays with the cat or reads. Sometimes he falls asleep on the couch in the common area and has woken contentedly at finding his head in Nat’s lap or Trinity purring on his legs. 
  * Dinner with everyone, Steve and T’Challa and his staff included. This meal usually includes more than one course and by the time dessert rolls around, Bucky is often stifling burps into his napkin and even unbuttoning his pants (which have definitely gotten tighter since his recovery from the HYDRA flu). 
  * Sitting around and shooting the shit- Bucky often finds himself content to just listen, closing his eyes and picking Steve’s voice out of the medley. 
  * Falling asleep after jerking off- Bucky’s given up on leaving Steve out of these fantasies, which oddly often revolve around Steve watching him eat more than seems humanly possible and then using his big hands to rub away the soreness from Bucky’s gut until they can move below the belt and maybe Steve’s hotly waggling tongue can join in the fray. 



~~~~~

So yeah, Bucky’s definitely aware that he has a fixation on food, and particularly on too much food and how it seems to make Steve blush when Bucky eats more than he really should. It makes sense, though, really- growing up, Bucky was the one always wheedling Steve with bowls of soup and homemade bread with butter, anxiously watching to make sure he didn't get even skinnier. And now that the tables have been turned, in a way, it's only logical that Steve believes that the best way for Bucky to heal is for him to eat well, to insulate himself from the eternal winter he spent so long freezing in. 

HYDRA had never given Bucky enough to eat, either- Bucky’s fuzzy on the exact reasoning but thinks it had something to do with hunger keeping him sharper and more focused, and guaranteed to return from his missions. He'd been fed with a kind of nutritive sludge, pumped directly into his stomach, and only when he returned successfully to his chair. The handlers were to let only water pass his lips when he was out in the field, and Bucky doesn't like to recall the stabbing hunger pains that had wracked him when he took longer than expected to complete a mission, or the animal relief he felt upon collapsing back into the chair and waiting for his stomach to fill without his volition. 

In Bucharest, when Bucky had felt safe enough to hole up for a while, he'd finally allowed himself to eat things with more flavor- previously having subsisted on stolen cans of soup and protein drinks, which filled him up like HYDRA’s mix used to. He’d marveled at the sheer variety of fresh food available and had eaten so much fruit all at once that he'd made himself sick. After that, he'd stuck to his favorites in moderation, supplemented with hearty local fare and foreign candy bars eaten in bed. Full, Bucky felt safe- as if his mission had been completed and he was ready to go back to sleep. 

This feeling hasn't really changed, although now Bucky is also okay with the staying awake part. 

~~~~~

It's nearing the end of lunch one day, and Steve has joined them, making snappy conversation with Sam and Nat, who give as much as they get. Scott is tinkering with some sort of ant-related technology on the table, and Bucky is getting ready to get some frozen yogurt. 

He gets up, planning to ask Sam to assist him (there are a lot of things that Bucky can do with one hand, but so far, holding a frozen yogurt cup and dispensing it at the same time isn't one), but Steve hops up when he sees Bucky with the yogurt dish. 

“You want some help, pal?” 

“Uh, sure.” Bucky hands the dish to Steve and starts to tell him which flavors and toppings, but Steve stops him with a quick, almost shy smile. 

“I've got it, Buck. You just go sit back down.”

Steve returns to the table with a dish packed full of four flavors of yogurt, innumerable toppings, and drenched in chocolate and caramel sauces. 

“Is that for the table or just for Bucky?” Sam asks, eyes following the dish at Steve sets it in front of Bucky with a heavy thump. 

“All for him,” Steve grins, and hands Bucky a spoon. “Dig in.” 

~~~~~

By the time Bucky’s spoon first scrapes the bottom of the dish, he’s ready to call uncle and would-- if it weren’t for that look on Steve’s face that says,  _ Keep going, Buck,  _ and the fire in his eyes echoing,  _ I want to watch you do it _ . 

Also, Steve’s actual voice: “Aren't you going to finish that?”

“Ugh. Urp.”

“As a product of the Depression, I'd expect more from you.” That damned smirk on Steve’s face-- Bucky can see how it’s making Nat and Sam exchange a certain kind of glance across the table. 

“You mean more  _ in _ me. Huuurp.” When the last bite is conquered, Bucky’s spoon clatters to the table and he can’t keep himself from letting out a groan. 

“Attaboy.” Steve’s still smirking, and not looking away, either. 

“Little full over there?” asks Sam cheekily.

“Fuck you,” Bucky pants. “It was his fault.” He jabs a finger at Steve, who blushes so brightly it’s almost comical. 

And then suddenly, Steve’s standing up, a flush still high on his cheeks. “I have to go,” he says quickly. “Emergency meeting. See you later.” 

Nat snorts. 

“Now that,” Sam says once Steve’s long legs and trim ass have strode far enough away, “was some kinky little foreplay shit.” 

“It wasn’t foreplay.” Bucky presses his fingers carefully into his stomach, is rewarded with a small belch. 

“Sure,” Nat grins. “Of course not. And Scott, is it really sanitary to have insects on the table?” She raps her knuckles smartly, and Scott jumps. 

“Sorry, what?” He shakes his head, blinks, looks at Bucky. “Jesus, what happened to you?” His eyes laser in on Bucky’s dazed expression and his full gut rounding out his t-shirt. 

“Steve,” Sam says. “Steve happened to him.” 

Bucky hiccups. 

~~~~~

In his room, Bucky shucks off his tight t-shirt and rubs slow, soothing circles into his belly, which feels like an overfull balloon. 

After a few minutes, there’s a knock at the door, and Bucky sighs. Getting up was not easy when you were this full and had only one arm for leverage. The person knocks again, and Bucky hoists himself up, calls, “Coming, who is it?” figuring it’s probably Nat or Sam or maybe even one of T’Challa’s staff. 

“It’s Steve.” 

Bucky opens the door to find Steve standing there looking nervous and holding a glass of something fizzy. 

“I brought you some ginger ale,” Steve says, as if this explains it. 

“Uh, thanks.” Trinity weaves her way around Bucky’s legs and he starts to bend down to pick her up but stops with a wince. “Sorry, hon, too full.” 

Steve angles past Bucky and his belly and sets the glass down on the side table. Hands shoved in pockets, looking at the floor, Bucky can see the nervous, skinny Brooklyn schoolboy he once was more than ever. 

“Spit it out, Rogers,” Bucky says, way too full for this nervous bullshit. “I’ve gotta lie down again in a minute.” His tummy gurgles audibly, demanding attention, and Steve clears his throat. 

“Uh, well, I came to see if I could take you out for dinner.” 

Bucky ignores the twinge of pain in his belly as he moves too quickly, and crushes his mouth against Steve’s. He’s praying to a god he never really believed in that he’s been reading the signals right-- Jesus Christ he will sacrifice lambs or firstborns or whatever it takes-- and then Steve kisses him back, their teeth knocking together as Steve gets his fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair. 

~~~~~

They end up on the bed, face to face, Bucky’s belly between them. Panting with exertion from making out on top of his overfull stomach and arousal, Bucky had to stop Steve from getting too worked up. 

“Stevie-- want our first time to be after the date,” he’d whispered, and Steve had chuckled gently.

“First time?” 

“This century,” Bucky had said, nipping a bit at Steve’s earlobe, and Steve had turned his head and kissed Bucky chastely on the forehead for a long moment. And then the cat had jumped up on the bed, too, prancing between them and demanding her own attention and tithing, and Steve had gotten up to go, leaving Bucky to digest, letting him know that he’d be back at 7 p.m. to pick him up. Bucky had fallen asleep with a smile on his face, and when he wakes up again, he’s happy, and though his stomach is still a bit tender, he feels a lot better, and doesn’t even mind when he discovers that his usual jeans won’t come close to buttoning. 

Bucky considers his limited closet carefully, then, sighing, pulls out his phone and types.

BB: Think you could use some of your special skills to rustle me up some new pants? I’ll owe you

NR: Sure thing. 

NR: Any special reason? ;) 

BB: Going out to dinner. 

NR: I see. Give me 15

BB: 15? 

NR: Minutes. 

BB: Maybe a shirt, too 

NR: On it

~~~~~

Natasha arrives a little over ten minutes later, several hangers dangling from her arm. She’s not even out of breath. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says as he lets her in, and Nat sets the hangers on the bed in order to focus on cuddling the cat, cradling her in her arms like a baby. 

“Try them on,” she says pointedly, nodding towards the bed. 

“Uh,” says Bucky. 

“Please, I’ve seen it all before,” Nat smirks. “Come on, we want you to look good for your date with Steve.” 

“Who says my date’s with Steve?” 

“Your face, Bucky. Your face right now.” 

“Oh.” Bucky maneuvers out of his t-shirt in what he’s sure is a very unattractive way (it’s hard with one arm, okay?) and steps out of his jeans. 

The new pants are much roomier than his old jeans, and the shirt is a dark red polo that skims over his belly rather than straining at it. 

“Easier than a button-up,” Nat smiles, and Bucky could just kiss her. 

~~~~~

He’s even happier about Nat’s clothing choices when he sees the look on Steve’s face. 

“Buck-- I-- uh, wow.” 

“Nat helped.” 

Steve runs his hand through his hair, ducks his head. “I owe that woman more every day.” 

“Same here, pal,” Bucky says, “I think she likes it that way.” 

They’re standing there in the doorway just looking at each other, until Steve clears his throat. 

“You ready to go? Hungry?” 

Despite his huge dessert at lunch and his not insubstantial breakfast, Bucky is. “Yes,” he says, to both, and to other things that Steve’s not asking out loud. 

~~~~~

Wakanda’s capital city is vibrant and multicultural, and Bucky is tickled that there’s a fancy “American”-themed restaurant, which is where Steve apparently plans to take him. 

“Meat and potatoes,” Steve says, “Traditional. Good for a growing boy.” He pours Bucky a teeny glass of champagne from the limo’s bar (T’Challa is a king, after all, and a very generous one at that, providing the usage of one of his limos for a date between two Brooklyn tenement boys) and puts his hand on Bucky’s knee. 

“Glad you’re home, Buck,” he says, and even though they are far from Brooklyn now, and even further from the boys they were before the war, Bucky raises his glass to that. 

~~~~~

Their table at the restaurant is in a corner, secluded, and Bucky wonders if Steve had planned that (he always was crafty in just that kind of way). Bucky doesn’t even get to open his menu before Steve grins, blue eyes and a flash of teeth. 

“I’m ordering for you, pal.” He plucks the menu out of Bucky’s hand and his smile gets even bigger, while his gaze seems to zero in on Bucky’s middle. “I know just what you like.” 

~~~~~

To start, Steve gets a large entree of poutine, some god-amazing abomination of fried cheese, actual fries, and gravy. Steve leans back in the booth and watches Bucky eat the whole thing. Bucky lets out a long, low burp when the plate is empty, pats his gut carefully. 

“You getting full already, bud? Better not be, with what you have coming up.” Steve just keeps on grinning that wholesome American smile at Bucky, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

It certainly will in Bucky’s, though-- and when his steak and potatoes arrive, the latter dripping with butter, he reaches a finger out and catches some. Steve’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when Bucky licks it off, and Bucky ducks his head to hide a smile. 

“Not full yet.” 

“Good.” Steve hooks the plate with one huge hand and immediately starts cutting the steak into bite-size pieces. At this, Bucky’s heart does a little flutter that he’s completely embarrassed about. Steve is way too goddamned nice-- and also, seeing the slightly predatory way Steve is watching him take his first bites of steak-- a bit kinky.

~~~~~

Three-quarters of the way through the steak, Bucky starts to feel like he’s hitting a wall. Steve has been cutting small pieces for him throughout like a champ, and reminding Bucky to switch it up every so often with bites of green bean (also swimming in butter, with slivered almonds, yum) and twice-baked potato. 

“Starting to get full,” Bucky admits to Steve, a bit of sweat glistening at his hairline. 

Steve summons the waiter over and orders Bucky a large soda. “Carbonation,” he smiles. “You’ve gotta makes some room for dessert.” 

“... Dessert?” Bucky palms his belly under the table and blows out a hard breath. “All right. Dessert.” 

~~~~~

The dessert is a monstrous piece of cheesecake, marbled chocolate and vanilla, with a rich graham cracker crust, and drizzled with elegant swirls of dark chocolate sauce. 

“Just a second,” Steve tells Bucky once the waiter has disappeared. He reaches across the small table and very deliberately knocks Bucky’s fork off of it. 

“What’d you do that for, pal?” No matter how much he wants Steve’s hot mouth on his dick, there’s no way Bucky’s eating cheesecake in a fancy restaurant with just his hand. 

Now Steve’s ducking beneath the table, ostensibly to retrieve the fork, but he pauses under the tablecloth, brushing his hand oh-so-lightly over Bucky’s tender belly, and thumbing open the button of Bucky’s new dress pants. Bucky can feel his gut swell out and push the zipper down, and the relief is immediate. 

Steve’s hand so near his cock is almost more than Bucky can bear, especially standing as he is on the state line of pain and pleasure, and he bites his lip. 

Steve reappears from under the table and hands the fork back to Bucky. “Eat,” he says, like that’s not what Bucky’s been doing for the last hour, and so Bucky does. 

~~~~~

Bucky's belly is  _ sore _ by the time he finishes. “Never been so full in my life, Stevie,” he pants, and Steve just beams at him from across the table. 

“Let's get you home. You did so good, baby.”

Bucky’s sure this time that his red cheeks are neither from fever or the flush of overeating. 

~~~~~

In the limo, Steve could barely keep his hands off of Bucky and his belly, and Bucky had leaned back against the supple leather seat, pliable and sated and more than a little drunk on champagne, food, and Steve’s proximity. 

Back in Bucky’s bedroom, they discover that Nat had slyly taken the cat to spend the night in her own room, and left them a cheeky single rose on the pillow, on top of a box of fancy chocolates. 

“Natasha is… something else,” Steve says, shaking his head. 

Bucky sits heavily on the bed and burps softly. “C’mere, I need some help with my shoes.” 

Steve kneels down in front of Bucky, and Bucky swallows hard, dick getting hard just at the image of Steve on his knees. Steve’s hands are gentle as they remove Bucky’s shoes and he moves in closer to carefully lift up the red polo shirt and press kisses to Bucky’s stomach. 

“Scoot up, Buck,” Steve tells him, and Bucky does, moving up on the bed so that his head is on the pillow. Steve’s deft fingers hook on the waistband of Bucky’s new pants, and Steve swiftly divests Bucky of both his pants and his underwear, with Bucky having to move his hips only minimally. 

Steve’s big hands on his belly feel better than anything Bucky could’ve imagined, as does his mouth on Bucky’s cock. It’s hot and wet and sweet and Bucky fists his hand in Steve’s hair when he’s not digging his fingers into the comforter. 

“Don’t come until I tell you,” Steve says, raising up to kiss Bucky’s mouth quickly. “And tell me when you’re close.” He gives Bucky an incredibly filthy smile and ducks back down, still rubbing soothing circles into the side of Bucky’s taut belly. 

“Almost,” Bucky pants not too much longer, “there--” and Steve’s mouth abruptly stops moving on his dick, and Bucky wants to scream. Steve lazily mouths over Bucky’s bellybutton, ghosting down below it, licking Bucky’s length. 

“Please, Steve--” Bucky gasps, and Steve’s back at it again, until Bucky’s  _ rightthereohmygod _ and the fucker stops again to stroke Bucky’s hair back from his forehead and kiss him roughly on the neck. 

This goes on several more times until Bucky is begging for it, and Steve finally says, “Come for me, baby,” and Bucky comes harder than he has in the last few decades (which, to be fair, isn’t saying much, but even if he’d been copulating for the last fifty-odd years instead of assassinating, Bucky’s sure this time would still be at the top). 

Steve holds him then, spent and sleepy and still so, so very full. 

“You want me to--?” Bucky asks quietly, nuzzled into the crook of Steve’s strong arm, and he feels Steve shake his head. 

“Just let me hold you a little longer, and then I’ll take care of it.” Even without seeing his face, Bucky can tell that Steve’s grinning, and so he relaxes into the gentle massage of Steve’s hand on his gut, gurgling between them. 

When Steve does come, jerking himself off in record time, he props Bucky up on the pillows as much as his too-full belly will allow, and Bucky watches with bright eyes. He adores the way Steve asks if he can come on Bucky’s belly, the way he anxiously watches Bucky’s face like he’s always seen the real Bucky there, even underneath masks and dirty baseball caps. 

“Be right back,” Steve whispers against Bucky’s jaw (which is a little less pronounced now than in the past, for sure), and the warm washcloth he uses to clean up feels heavenly against Bucky’s tight skin. 

“S’rry I wasn’t up to everything,” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s chest once Steve has returned to bed, and Steve kisses his hair. 

“Shh, honey, you were perfect”-- here Bucky can feel more than see Steve’s wicked grin-- “and besides, we still have the morning… and that box of chocolates.” 


End file.
